


A Dusty Newsflash

by AppalachianApologies



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dad Hotch, Fluff, Gen, Hotch is Spencer's Father, Hotch is Spencer's Father Figure, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, I have ended my week hiatus with, Illnesses, Post-Episode: s04e24 Amplification, Sickfic, Spencer Reid Whump, basically Spencer has very bad luck, but it's okay because papa rossi and dad hotch are here to save the day, does this count as a sick fic?, ok fine it hasn't actually been a week but is anyone even surprised at this point????, scratch that, this shit is so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: Spencer's lungs aren't the strongest after narrowly surviving anthrax. It sure would be a shame if he were to get sick! (sarcasm)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 352





	A Dusty Newsflash

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I've taken like five days off writing and it just feels so fucking wrong so I just wanted to write something while I finish up the plot stuff for the second book of Burning Cinders! So! Here's a lil treat for you all!
> 
> I edited this literally four and a half minutes ago, so there's probably quite a few things that missed, but oh well. Sometimes you just need some dad hotch, even if the grammar sucks, you know? ok i'll shut up now.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Spencer Reid has bad luck. Really, really,  _ really _ bad luck.

Although he’s not one to believe in superstitions, with the amount of situations he gets himself into, Spencer figures that he’d done something as a child to spark all of this luck. And it’s not even a side effect of being in the BAU, because nobody else seemed to have this much bad luck.

As if acquiring a new strain of anthrax wasn’t enough, Spencer thinks that he’s getting sick. Not a bad sick, nothing like cancer, but just a common cold. Which in an ordinary, healthy patient, wouldn’t be a problem. In any other adult, symptoms would last between two and ten days, and the patient would be mildly displaced from sneezes and coughs.

Spencer’s never been an average patient, though.

It’s been eight days since Spencer’s been exposed to anthrax, and six days since he’d been released from the hospital. And it’s been a single day since the virus of the common cold has found his immune system.

The BAU has been quiet, Strauss laying off their cases for at least the next few weeks. Besides the fact that one of their agents almost died, keeping the new strain of anthrax away from the media is apparently a good enough win to have a few days off.

Even after finishing all of his paperwork, Spencer stays in the bullpen. There’s nothing to greet him at home, and he knows that it’s the exact same reason why Hotch and Rossi are still in their offices. Haley still has Jack, and despite Rossi’s expensive mansion, there’s no warm bodies inside.

Spencer has both a chess game going on both inside of his head, and physically in front of him, when the coughing comes back. He had managed the coughing to a degree, chugging down tea with honey, eating cough drops by the fistful, but he knew that it couldn’t last.

Stifling his cough in his elbow, Spencer turns away from the two offices. It’s not that he’s specifically avoiding Hotch, but it’s the first day that the team stopped coddling him, and he doesn’t want Hotch to jump back into the role of concerned parent.

Groaning, Spencer sucks in a few precious breaths before his lungs spasm again. He’s spent so much time coughing over the past week that his throat is raw and dry, each cough more painful than the last. Eventually the fit dies down, and Spencer goes back to moving his bishops and nights.

A second later, it starts up again.

Eyes pulled down into a frown, Spencer continues to cough into his elbow. Cough, after cough, after cough, it never seems to end. Between each one, Spencer tries to clear his throat, an attempt to expel something that isn’t even there. 

Eventually, Spencer moves his free hand from his chessboard to help brace himself against the desk. It helps, but only marginally. When he finally stops coughing again, Spencer spends a few precious moments greedily breathing in air.

His chest hurts from all of the coughing, and Spencer knows that it’s going to make sleeping nearly impossible. He’s never done well with chest pain.

Barely ten seconds later, Spencer begins coughing again. They’re large, violent coughs that seem to start from the bottom of his lungs, rattling up his entire sternum. Spencer’s completely powerless, just following his body’s need to expel particles that only exist on the microscopic level.

Spencer’s all too grateful that nobody else is in the bullpen. He doesn’t think that he’d be able to hide this cough.

Evidently, he’s not even hiding his cough well enough to avoid capturing the attention of Rossi. Although Spencer can’t see it, Rossi had been idly watching out of his office window, frowning every time Spencer began to cough again.

After musing to himself that enough is enough, Rossi gives up brainstorming novels and makes his way down the stairs to the main part of the bullpen. Too caught up with his own body, Spencer doesn’t even notice he’s there until the older man has set a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey kid, you alright?” Rossi asks it with one eyebrow quirked up, obvious concern set in his features.

Spencer nods. “Yeah, I-” He gets interrupted by his own body, still attempting to cough out something. “I’m fine.” Spencer finishes, clearing his throat.

“Why don’t you go home?” Rossi asks, in a way that they both know it’s a demand, not a request. “You’ve had a rough week, you don’t even need to be back at work. Hell, even if you did need to be back at work, I have no clue why you’re here this late.”

Between coughs, Spencer points out, “You and Hotch are still here.”

“Yeah,” Rossi sighs, “That’s because we don’t have anything better to do with our sad lives.” He says it sarcastically, but there’s a hint of truth through the words. “C’mon, kid. I’ll drive you home.”

To the older man’s relief, Spencer nods. “Alright, but-” Spencer ducks his head, coughing having yet again cut off his words. “Sorry.” He chokes out at the end.

With a concerned look, Rossi questions, “You get any water in you?”

“Mm,” Spencer confirms, awkwardly motioning to his travel mug.

“Any water that’s not been turned into coffee?”

Spencer coughs, while Rossi patiently waits it out. “Tea.”

“Yeah, alright,” Rossi muses, reaching to Spencer’s elbow to help him up from the desk. “We’re gettin’ you home.” When Spencer’s only reply is a cough, Rossi asks, “Your cough hasn’t been this bad lately, has it?”

Rossi really shouldn’t be surprised when Spencer has to clear his throat before speaking, and even then, it sounds far too scratchy. “Got sick.”

Picking up Spencer’s messenger bag for him, Rossi mutters, “Why didn’t you mention that?” Along with a few colorful Italian curses.

“‘S just a cold,”

“After you had anthrax.”

Spencer pushes his eyebrows together. “I didn’t ‘have’ anthrax-” Whatever his point was, it gets cut off with more coughs. Clenching his eyes, Spencer reaches down on the desk to steady himself.

“Merda,” Rossi half whispers, before turning toward the stairs and yelling, “Aaron! Get down here!”

With knit eyebrows, Spencer looks up at Rossi, “Wh-” He’s broken up by coughs yet again. It’s honestly starting to seriously piss him off.

Rather than answer, Rossi pushes Spencer back in his desk chair, keeping a hand on his shoulder to ensure that the younger man won’t try to stand back up. Too caught up with coughing, all Spencer can do is send a look at the other man.

“Dave?”

Both Spencer and Rossi turn their heads to see Aaron, looking as confused as Spencer feels. Without saying anything, Rossi gives a head nod toward Spencer, and watches as their Unit Chief pales a few shades.

Spencer, on the other hand, still doesn’t know what’s happening. He has no idea why the two older men are mother henning even more than usual. After another bout of coughing, Spencer reaches up with the back of his hand to wipe saliva off his lips. When he brings his hand down, he’s greeted with red on his knuckles.

With wide eyes, Spencer looks up. “Hotch?”

“You’re going to be fine, Reid.”

Spencer can feel his breathing pick up, and even though he knows it’s not going to help his situation, there’s nothing he can do to stop the panic. As Spencer trudges through more coughs, he keeps his hand next to his mouth, as if he was trying to hide the blood that the older men both know exist. 

After he’s done coughing, he hears Hotch, voice laced with worry. “We can’t take him to a hospital yet, not without Kimura.”

“Why the hell not? ‘Kid’s coughing up blood!”

“We can’t say anything about anthrax,” Hotch points out. “The word can’t get out. The best we can do right now is the Quantico infirmary.”

Rossi looks about as angry as Hotch feels, but he knows that it’s the truth. They won’t be able to tell any doctors or nurses about Spencer’s past health… problems, which means they won’t be able to treat him accordingly.

Halfway through a cough, Rossi hoists Spencer up, wrapping the younger man’s shoulder around his own.

“I can walk,” Spencer chokes out, but it’s half hearted at best.

“Technically, you are.” Rossi replies. “Aaron, get his otherside,”

Scrolling through contacts on his phone, Hotch absentmindedly responds, “Yeah,” Before joining Spencer’s otherside. With his free hand, Hotch calls Kimura, cursing when she doesn’t answer on the first ring. When it ends to voicemail, Hotch has to stop himself from screaming.

“Aaron?”

Without turning his head, Hotch instructs, “Walk faster.”

Barely able to keep his panic down, Spencer stumbles between the two older men, trying to curl in on himself even when they won’t let him. Each cough makes his throat dryer, causing him to cough even more, and it turns into some type of sick torture. 

“C’mon, Spencer,” Hotch mutters halfway through, and Spencer tries not to think about how bad he must be if Hotch is using his first name. “You’re doing great.”

Although he doesn’t exactly share the same sentiment, Spencer still nods.

A few steps later, the lack of oxygen finally hits him, and Spencer feels the lightheadedness start. The asphalt swims in front of him, and every time he blinks, it takes far too long for his vision to refocus.

Spencer’s not really paying attention when Hotch suddenly speaks up, “Get the door,”

“Aaron-”

“I’ll carry him. Get a doctor, and make sure they’re an agent, not an independent.”

Rossi opens his mouth to refuse, but he knows that it’s best if he finds a doctor before Spencer makes it into the infirmary. 

To his horror, Spencer’s powerless as he’s moved into Hotch’s arm, carried bridal style under the few lights dotted around the pavement. Part of him wants to complain, but as soon as he talks, his coughing comes back. It feels like his lungs have gone from bad to worse in only the past hour, and Spencer doesn’t want to know what happens if he stays on that trajectory.

He turns his head away from Hotch when he continues to cough in an effort to keep as much blood off of the older man as he can. Between each spasm, Spencer tries to draw in as much air as possible, but based on the dark corners of his vision, Spencer knows it isn’t enough.

Suddenly the balmy outside turns into air conditioned, stale oxygen. Spencer’s familiar enough with the smell to know that he’s in some sort of medical facility, and it’s only safe to assume that it’s the Quantico infirmary.

He’s laid down on a gurney, and Spencer grimaces when hands begin prodding his body. Pieces of medical equipment are placed and stuck onto nearly every extremity, which Spencer thinks is a bit unnecessary, but then again, he’s not the medical professional.

“‘Otch,” He groans out, making a face when an oxygen mask is placed on him. “Hotch-”

“You’re fine, Spencer.” From the side, Spencer can just make out the figure of his Unit Chief, hands anxiously wringing together. “Just keep breathing.” He coaches.

Too tired to do anything else, Spencer complies. In between coughs, he confirms, “Just keep breathing.” Before letting his eyes close.

“Hey, no no no, open your eyes. Reid. Open your eyes.”

Although he isn’t happy about it, Spencer complies. 

“Agent Reid, are you in any pain?” Spencer blinks to the opposite side of Hotch, finding a doctor with a beard that looks like it needed to be trimmed about two weeks ago. “Agent Reid? Can you hear me?”

Spencer wants to reply, but instead all that comes out is another cough. Figures. Everyone’s always wanting him to stay quiet, but now as soon as he can’t talk they’re all asking him questions. That’s just his luck, really.

“Hey, Reid, keep your eyes open.”

Swallowing, Spencer forces his eyelids to move, unaware that they had drifted closed.

“Reid- Spencer! I said, keep your eyes open,”

“Agent Reid, can you hear me?”

“That’s right, keeping looking at me,”

Voices continue to swim around Spencer, and his vision blurs like the time he lost his contacts and had to wear his old prescription.

“Are you in any pain?”

“Keep your eyes open,”

“You’re doing really good, Agent Reid, okay?”

“That’s right, keep looking at me,”

“You’re going to be just fine,”

“Don’t close your eyes,”

“Don’t close your eyes, Reid.”

Spencer wasn’t even aware that he had.

*

Spencer wakes with a jerk, and he doesn’t really know why. A second later, he reaches up, attempting to take away whatever’s on his face that’s been suffocating him.

A warm hand finds it first. “Hey, hey, don’t touch that,”

Clearing his throat, Spencer questions, “Hotch?”

“Yeah,” He confirms. “You have an oxygen mask on, okay? You don’t want to be removing that. Do you understand?”

“Mmhm,” Spencer mumbles, before reaching up to move the mask again.

Hotch quickly sets his hand back down, “Spencer, no.”

The younger man tries to go for a mean look, but he ends up turning to the side to cough away from Hotch. Looking rather crosseyed, Spencer’s relieved when there’s no red or pink specks in the inside of the plastic.

Seemingly out of the blue, a new voice greets him. “Doctor Reid, I need to listen to your lungs, okay?”

“Kimura.” Spencer deduces, rather proud of himself.

Ignoring his comment, Hotch asks, “Can you sit up, or do you want me to help you roll onto your side?”

With a groan, Spencer answers, “Sit up.” To his credit, Spencer almost makes it halfway before his arms become weak, turning to jelly. Both Hotch and Kimura catch him, gently lowering him on what appears to be an infinite amount of pillows.

“Alright, we’re gonna turn you on your side.”

Limply, Spencer just lets it happen. He’s far too exhausted to do anything else more than just watching the world from half lidded eyes. Spencer’s all too familiar with the feeling of a stethoscope on his back, and knows exactly where Kimura’s going to move it to before she actually does.

A few seconds later, Hotch gently rolls Spencer back. Awkwardly, he licks the sides of his lips, a weak attempt at trying to get rid of the dryness. He knows it’s from the oxygen mask, but Hotch isn’t too happy when the younger man brings up his arm to dislodge it.

Prying his hand away, Hotch murmurs, “Spencer, you have to stop. The mask is helping you.”

“Mmhm,” Spencer absentmindedly confirms. “‘Re my lungs ‘kay?”

From the side, Kimura pipes up, “We did a rush on the culture swab we took when you were asleep. It’s just a cold.”

Oblivious to Spencer’s grin, realizing that he was right all along, Hotch questions, “A cold? Why was he coughing up blood?”

“His lungs are incredibly weak from the anthrax,” Kimura answers. “The coughing put more stress on them than they could handle.”

Spencer takes a lethargic blink. “‘M ‘kay now?”

“You’ll be fine soon,” She corrects. “You’ll need to stay on oxygen for a bit longer, and continue to take it easy for the next few weeks. This was honestly just bad luck.”

With a sigh of relief, Hotch points out, “You never do things halfway, do you?”

“‘S hard to get half of a cold,” Spencer answers. “Doesn’ make sense.”

Hotch pats Spencer’s arm. “Yeah, yeah. Go back to sleep, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?” Spencer questions, confused frown evident from his eyebrows.

“You won’t remember it when you wake up,” Hotch chuckles. “Just go back to sleep, you need rest.”

Although his eyes have already slipped closed, Spencer insists, “‘M gonna tell Morgan you- you called me that.” Spencer’s voice is almost completely muddled when he finishes, “‘S gonna love it.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“G’dnigh’, Hotch.”

By the time Hotch answers, his youngest agent is already asleep.

When he hears a familiar voice from the door, Hotch figures that it’s his own fault before double checking who was in the room with them.

“You know, Aaron,” Rossi starts, “If the kid doesn’t tell Morgan, I will.”

Hotch gives him a pointed look, but there’s no malice nor power behind it.

With a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, Rossi sympathetically sighs, “He’ll be alright. Kid’s a fighter, we know that.”

“Yeah.” Hotch solemnly agrees, “But I wish he didn’t have to fight this hard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mmhmm dad hotch
> 
> If you all want updates on writing, or just want to stop by to see my general shenanigans that go on regarding my thoughts, come visit my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/appalachianapologies) (AppalachianApologies)! It's honestly a party and I love talking with you all!!
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3
> 
> Much love to all of you!! <3 <3


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